I've been writing ever since and have learned to love it! I started out sharing my stories with friends and family. I've now been published in a Nashville church paper, Our Daily Journey (a devotional site of RBC Ministries), PCCWeb Daily Devotional, Ruby for Women Ezine Magazine, and I am a contributor in the book Alabaster Jars, Life in Abundance Collection 2.
Why Ponderings? During this life storm, God led me to a pond in the woods behind my home. There He met me each time, teaching new lessons, reminding me of old ones, showing His presence and allowing me to feel His love through the surroundings of that pond. I found myself returning over and over to ponder, pray and praise. A healing of my heart took place and out of the experience came my first book, Ponderings From the Pond, then a second book, Ponderings From My Porch, and now a third book is in the works along with a memoir about my storm.
Why am I making myself so vulnerable? Because God has done so much that I cannot keep quiet. I have to share. Jesus's last words to his desciples were, "Go,tell." We are his disciples too and this is just one of my ways of telling.
I'm no scholar but I have heard God's voice in my spirit, experience His love daily, and have a desire for others to experience this also. I would love to share with all who visit and I would love to hear from you. If my sharing gets just one to ponder, to be quiet with the Father, to see and hear from Him or to be reminded of something from Him, then this is worth my vulnerability.
As you visit me, sometimes we will be at the pond, sometimes we will move to the front porch, and sometimes we will just be here, there, and yonder. Thank you for coming and please feel free to come back anytime, you are always welcome here.
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.
My first book, Ya Know What I'm Say'n, has been released.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Saturday, August 24, 2013
when I don't want to cook, he acts perfectly happy to eat a bowl of cereal
when I throw up and miss the basket, he cleans it up
he patiently helps me with rewrites even if it has to be a hundred times
If that ain't true love, I don't know what is!
I'm so thankful!
Place me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm;
for love is as strong as death,
its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire,
like a mighty flame.
Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.
Song of Songs 8:6-7
True love goes both ways,
next time he can have the last nacho.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
My son, on this day, Sunday, boarded a plane and is flying off to West Africa on a mission trip with 7 other mission-minded people. I hugged my young man good-bye, proud of his obedience to the Lord's call.
But as I sit here by myself, I don't see the young man. I see the little boy who once was, holding his arms up to me so I could pick him up and fly him through the air as if he was a plane, building lego hats and wearing them, playing under the school table soaring his pencils in the air as if they were swords fighting and planes flying. I can hear the giggles that always came from the little boy I use to carry and fly around, making buzzing sounds with my mouth to give sound effects.
The little boy grew up in more ways than one. He is taller than his momma now, he can pick me up off the floor, his faith is strong and we still giggle together at times.
He now wears the suit of armor and carries the sword of the spirit with him. He will speak and share truth and life to ones on the other side of the ocean. He will sail on the wings of His Savior and I will be standing on the promises of same Savior. God watches over the young man now as I carry the little boy in my heart.
The Lord is carrying my son and He is holding me. We rise on the wings and rest in the shadow of the wings of the one we both call our Savior. . .Jesus.
Friday, August 16, 2013
My heart was breaking for her. I cried tears of sadness for this situation and for her, and I was angry at another.
Today one of my dearest friends is sitting by her sister's bed watching her prepare to meet her Savior face to face. I know my friend is worn out, sad, grieving, praying, and just running over with emotion. But she, her sister and her family love the Lord and are leaning on him in the tiredness and sickness and rejoicing that they know where their loved one will be going, a place where there is no more sickness, no more pain, no more tears. Yes, we can rejoice in that!
If you wouldn't mind, I know my readers are prayer warriors so would you please pray for my friend Jennie, her sister Joanna and the family she is surrounded by.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
As I continued to listen to the teacher, there was a dialogue going on within myself. This is how it went. . .
Jesus. . ."Isn't what I did for you spectacular?"
Me. . ."Yes, oh my, I know it was, yes!"
Jesus. . ."Why didn't you share about being from a broken home, not feeling loved, feeling alone?"
Me. . ."I don't know."
Jesus. . ."Why didn't you share about standing at the kitchen sink, a 12 year old girl feeling sad? Why didn't you tell them that for the very first time, you heard my voice in your spirit saying, "If you will surrender to me, I will be your Father, I will always be here to comfort you, always be here to take care of you, always be here to love you?"
Me. . ."I don't know. I'm so sorry!"
Jesus. . ."It's ok my child. I know it's not your comfort zone to speak up in front of people, but remember all those comfort zones I helped you out of?"
Me. . ."Oh yes, yes, yes!"
Jesus. . ."Why did you begin to blog?"
Me. . ."Because You told me too. You told me to step out and share."
Jesus. . ."Yes. I died on the cross for you and saved you and now you are my daughter, my child, and I, Holy God am Your Father who has brought you from death to life. I hear you sharing with those at the bridge. Why not share in class? Others may be sitting there waiting just like you, waiting to hear from you...so share.
Share how I redeemed you, a sinner, saved by grace. Share how I brought you through the difficult, growing up years, share how I healed your mother and restored the two of you back together after 9 years. Share how I came in and helped you out of the pit and healed your broken heart from your precious child leaving, the prodigal that I have my eye on and you have trusted Me with, that precious gift that I gave you 25 years ago. Share how I have blessed you with a husband who has loved you and has been a blessing for 31 years. Share how I bring the birds to your window every day for you to enjoy and pea frogs at night to hear their songs. Share how I gave you strength to step out and to talk with people you never would have on your own. Share the blessings I have showered upon you day after day after day. Share about the peace I have given you that has helped you to go on while waiting for preciousness to return. Share how that night as a 12 year old, you dropped to the black, vinyl footstool in your living room and you repented of your sins, you gave me your heart, you made me Lord and Savior of your life, and you felt a weight taken off of your shoulders and you cried not really understanding in your young years yet but learned that I took on those burdens and the weight became lighter.
Grace. . .you were lost but you were found. . .by ME."
Me. . ."I will be eternally grateful!"
Jesus. . .I love you daughter. . .will you share?"
Me. . ."Yes Lord, I will."
Friday, August 2, 2013
I wanted the best for my son. . .don't all we mothers want that?
I loved him, played with him, taught him SO many things. I wanted him to have a strong foundation, strong in the Lord, so that when he didn't need me anymore, when he was out in the cold world, he could stand strong and not be blown this way and that.
I cradled him.
I cared for him.
I sang lullabyes and children's songs to him.
I taught him reading, writing, and arithmetic.
I taught him the piano,
I taught him manners.
I taught him about praying.
I taught him about the Lord.
I tried to be a good example.
And then he was gone. Out the door into the dark. He's not back yet. Twenty-five years old and he is gone.
I hear and read where mothers get that wonderful acclamation of 'You did such a great job!' regarding their child rearing. I thought I had done such a good job with him. It didn't seem like a job though. It felt like a privilege to be his mother. I thanked God every day for him and just wanted to do the best I could and enjoy this precious one. I did...on both counts. But I don't hear those words.
I had come to realized that I had to lay down expectations. I had to lay down my son into the Lord's hands. I had to give him back to the One who gave him to me. I give him back Lord. I did the best I could. I pray that you will allow me the privilege once again to enjoy my son. I will wait for Your timing.
I should not need to hear certain words from others, although I've been blessed with a wonderful husband who has blessed me with words. Oh yes, and my mother. . .bless he heart, she blesses me with her words also. Some days that is enough and some days it is not. That is when I go to my Lord who knows what I've done. He saw into the windows of our home, into our lives, into my heart.
This sounds so vain. I do not mean for it to. And this has nothing to do with pride. When you love someone SO much and you've put your all into them and they leave and hurt stabs the heart. . . .sometimes this body of flesh just needs to hear, and to bleed.
And then my eyes fall onto my other son. He is still here, living faithfully, living with imperfect me, kidding and joking and loving with me. He walks up behind me and lifts me up off the floor and hugs me. I say, "I love you" and I hear back, "Love you too mom". Soothing balm to a heart that still hurts.
And with my eyes closed as my #2 son hugs me and I picture my other precious one in my mind and all the hugs I had received from him in another life time, I hear those words from the One who gives me breath. . ."You did such a great job!"
I am so thankful to be sandwiched in between His hope and His promises. I love and miss my sweet one very much but I know God has His eye is on my blue-eyed sparrow and I know He watches over him.
But I remember one day, my grandmother wanted to go visit a couple of her friends. My dad drove her out as my grandmother did not drive. They took me along.
I remember stepping into the little houses where the little old women lived and that musty old house smell lingered. I associated that smell with old women; women with grey buns at the back of their necks and bib aprons over their housedresses. I was polite as I sat on the sofa and listened to my grandmother visit away with her friends. I remember looking around and seeing old photographs on the wall and on their end tables; family pictures sitting on top of aged looking doilies. I can still feel the breeze in my mind from their open windows. No one back then had air conditioners. Farm folks always had their windows open during the summer. I can still hear the crickets making their music. I can still see my dad, although polite, fidgeting. He probably didn't want to be there any more than I did. I wanted to get back to my grandparents farm where I could run and play and get a Dr. Pepper bottle out the fridge.
Decades later, I now live in the country. I have old family photographs in my home. I even have old doilies, although most of them are inside a drawer. I have Dr. Pepper in my fridge, although it is not in the tall, glass bottles I remember that said 10, 2, and 4. My Dr. Pepper is in boring, plastic bottles or aluminum cans. And my air conditioner is giving off a musty smell.
I wonder when the neighbor kids come inside my home, if they look at me as the old woman who lives in a musty house. (I hope the smell instead is all those cleaners I use. . .the scent of Windex, Comet, and 4-09!) I do not have a gray bun at the back of my neck and I don't wear housedresses. But that smell. . .I think I will go light my rose candle. . .after I daydream some more of the farm where I had some of my best memories, including seeing my bunned grandmother dressed up and with lipstick on. She only wore it when going out visiting. I miss her!
I just might wait on that candle for another day and continue to take in the musty smell and remember. Maybe that's what those little ol' ladies were doing way back then, in their musty houses. . .remembering.